


well damn, billy, i can't control the weather

by obsceme



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, But only if you squint, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Season/Series 03, Sharing a Bed, Snowed In, a hint of a praise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21664870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsceme/pseuds/obsceme
Summary: narrator: and there was only one bedall of us, collectively: (gasps)and there was only one bed
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 52
Kudos: 569





	well damn, billy, i can't control the weather

**Author's Note:**

> if you're unsure as to where i got my title, well. shame on you. i'm kidding. it's from the genius that is michael kelso, in that '70s show season 3, episode 10: "ice shack".
> 
> this is a whole fluffy, emotional mess and i just really need these two to be happy and in love. unbeta'd and sloppily edited by me, myself, and i. happy holidays, y'all!

“You’re the one who didn’t bother to check the goddamn weather.”

“Oh my _God_.”

Steve grips the steering wheel just a little bit tighter. Grits his teeth. The irresistible urge to take the bait, to play into Billy’s shitty attitude, itches just beneath his skin. An itch he can’t fucking scratch. That he _won’t_ scratch. 

Because Billy doesn’t deserve that right now. Not when he’s behaving like a petulant child, not when it’s what he _wants_. 

Billy gets worked up, Billy picks fights. Just the way these fucking things go at this point. Steve should be used to it by now. It shouldn’t rile him up this much - ideally, it should roll right off his fucking back, like most things do these days.

Thing is, Steve had been doing him a fucking _favor_.

The tires of the beemer skid again, another ice patch making itself known only _after_ Steve has driven right over it. It’s getting harder and harder to see, the snow coming down in droves, blanketing the world in a soft white coating.

“We’re not going to make it home in this,” Steve acknowledges. Lets out a dejected sigh.

He pulls off at the next motel he sees, ignoring Billy’s horrified protests. Throws the beemer in park. Doesn’t even wait to see if Billy is going to follow him before marching inside to get a room.

Steve slides his father’s credit card across the front desk. “Can I get a room for one night, please? Two beds?”

The girl behind the counter looks up from her magazine, unimpressed. Pops her gum. “Only have singles left.”

Motherfucker. Of all the motels between Bloomington and Hawkins, Steve had to pick the one goddamn place that’s currently at capacity. In rooms with two beds, anyway. 

He hesitates before he answers, pondering his options. They could try their luck, keep driving and pray they make it back to Hawkins in one piece. Or, Steve could fucking grow a pair and share a bed with Billy Hargrove for one stupid fucking night, and keep his head attached to his shoulders.

It’s not that he’d mind sharing a bed with Billy, it’s just - there’s a lot that’s still unresolved between them. At least on Steve’s end. He cares about Billy a great deal, that’s no secret. It’s just that - well. He might care about Billy a bit more than he lets on, a bit more than he’ll ever admit to even himself.

That, accompanied by the tension now fizzling between them after their little spat, makes sharing a bed a recipe for disaster. But at this point, they’re out of options.

With a sigh of defeat, Steve nods. Hands her the credit card. “I’ll take it.”

Billy is still pouting in the passenger’s seat when Steve gets back. Won’t even look up when Steve says, “get your stuff. We’re staying here tonight.”

Steve rolls his eyes, looking up towards the sky. Curses his luck before moving to grab his own belongings. Wallet, keys, a fleece throw blanket that he’d never taken out of his trunk after a “camping” trip with Nancy, many moons ago. A half empty water bottle, and his winter coat.

“Fine. Stay out here and freeze, then. Your choice.”

He fully intends to stomp away, feeling rather childishly frustrated himself, but. It’s a lot harder to do in the snow than it is at the mall when Billy sprays him with fruity perfume, giving him a wink and a _you’re makin’ me want to eat you right up, Harrington_. 

The bed is a lot smaller than Steve had been anticipating. Sure, two people could comfortably fit in it, provided they’re really comfortable with being pressed right up against each other. 

He’s letting out a pitiful groan before he can stop himself, wanting to cry at the unfairness of it all, before dropping his stuff and flopping onto the bed.

Billy holds out a lot longer than Steve had expected. Because Billy may act tough, but deep down he’s just a whiny brat who knows how to pitch a good fit. Still, when he walks into the room and shakes the snow from his leather jacket, Steve doesn’t look up.

“Ready to talk like adults, or are you still being a gigantic baby?”

The look Billy gives him is nothing short of loathsome. He looks like he’s about to spit something back, something that will probably leave Steve with hurt feelings for the foreseeable future, until he fixes his gaze on the bed. 

The one that Steve is currently lounging on, wrapped up in his fleece blanket.

His eyes dart around wildly, as if expecting to find another bed hiding in the corner somewhere.

“You couldn’t even get two fucking beds, Harrington? Now is _not_ the time to be getting cheap on me,” Billy grouches, plopping onto the couch beneath the front window.

Steve glares, then looks back at the magazine he’d found in the bathroom. “They were out of doubles.”

“Pretty sure we could’ve made it to another goddamn motel that at least has two beds.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry Billy. My deepest apologies for not wanting to wreck my car and die just so you can be fucking comfortable,” Steve snaps. Tosses the magazine on the floor, forgotten. “Quit being a brat and get over it. I can’t do any-fucking-thing about it.”

Billy’s eyes darken. He folds his arms across his chest. Bites his cheek and looks away, taking a few calming breaths. He actually looks _hurt_. Like Steve’s words had burned him to his core.

And okay, maybe Steve feels a little bad. He knows it’s not hard to get Billy worked up these days, he knows the anxiety that has manifested itself after Billy’s _very_ near-death experience practically eats him alive at all times, especially in stressful situations. He knows that Billy’s anger and aggression, while definitely a natural part of him, is greatly exacerbated by said anxiety. 

It also just happens to be Billy’s go-to coping mechanism. Always has been, even before the possession and near-death heroics. Stay angry at the world long enough and the bad feelings can’t get to you - that’s Billy Hargrove’s philosophy.

He’s been in therapy, developing new coping mechanisms. Better ones. But sometimes, when Billy gets worked up to an uncontrollable degree, the behaviors he’s trying so hard to unlearn fall right back into play.

Steve tries to be the best friend that he can, tries to not let it get to him. Because Steve fucking cares about Billy, more than anyone else in his life. And it’s not like it’s Billy’s _fault_ , he can’t help it. At least now he always apologizes. In his own way. 

It’s also not like Steve can say he didn’t know what he was getting into when he first started visiting Billy in the hospital, in the early days of his recovery. He knew what he was in for when he made it his mission to be Billy’s friend. Or his - his _something_. To be someone Billy can always depend on, to be the one person - other than Max - that will never give up on him. Unlike everybody else.

He’d be lying, though, if he said that it’s not hard sometimes. These days, Billy is quick to anger, quick to retreat, quick to bury himself in complete isolation when things get to be Too Much. Where there’s laughter and camaraderie and mutual understanding, there’s also anger and frustration and a list of trauma about a mile long. 

It’s been a long and difficult road for the both of them. Sometimes it makes Steve feel trapped in his own skin when he realizes that in the grand scheme of things, they’re still just at the beginning of it.

“Can we quit fighting like an old married couple and just get through the night? Please?” Steve asks after a while, casting a hopeful look over at Billy, his eyes softening.

He doesn’t get an answer for a long stretch. And then, “you were a dick today.”

“Are you kidding me? _I_ was a - you know what, forget it. Maybe I was,” he relents. Huffs out another defeated sigh into the quiet stillness of the room. “Fine, you’re right. I should’ve checked the weather before we left. I was just trying to make sure you got everything done for the holidays. That’s what you wanted, right? Whole reason why you asked me to take you.”

“I asked you to take me because the whole world treats me like I’m still some sort of goddamn invalid who can’t fucking do anything himself,” Billy snaps. His foot kicks one of the legs of the coffee table, and Steve jumps.

“Look, I’m sorry, alright? I know you miss the Camaro. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll take the couch, okay? Bed’s all yours,” Steve offers, his voice quieter than it has been. Trying to diffuse the situation.

Billy just looks at his fingernails with an unimpressed sniff. “Saying sorry doesn’t get me my license or my car back. And I’m not taking the bed. I’ll never hear the end of it if I do.”

“What?” Steve asks, incredulous. “When have I ever held anything like that over your head?”

Wordlessly, Billy taps his finger under his left eye. Steve, instinctively, touches his fingers to the same spot on his own face. The same spot, only his face holds an ugly scar, remarkably similar to the pattern on Billy’s ring.

“I have _never_!” Steve objects, folding his arms across his chest with an indignant huff.

“You literally just did this morning. _You owe me Billy, look at what you did to my pretty face_ ,” Billy mimics, his expression sour. 

Steve wants to argue, but Billy is right. He hadn’t wanted to get out of the car to gas it up, the air outside holding too much of an icy bite. Billy had groaned his disapproval, but had gotten out to do it anyway. 

“Okay, well, to be fair, you literally do the same thing,” Steve argues. “ _I_ _almost died to save you and your shitty friends, Steve, now bring me dinner or I’ll kick your ass_.”

“I almost _did_ die to save you and your shitty friends,” Billy points out. Still not looking at him.

“ _Oh_ my _God_ , you are unfuckingbelievable.” Steve hauls himself off the bed and stomps to the door, more effectively than he had through the snow. “I’m gonna go find us some fucking food so we don’t starve to death in this fucking hell motel that we’re fucking trapped in for God knows how fucking long.”

He slams the door so hard behind him that it rattles on his hinges. A sliver of guilt works his way into the pit of his stomach. Loud noises and Billy are not two things that often mix well, he knows this well enough by now.

Steve almost turns back, almost goes to check and make sure he hadn’t triggered one of Billy’s episodes. To curl up beside him and tentatively hold his hand while he talks Billy down in quiet whispers, if he had in fact triggered an episode, but. Well. Anger is a bitch of a fuel.

“Hi again. I was wondering if you could tell me where I can get some food?” Steve asks when he reaches the front desk, his fists still clenched tight by his sides.

It’s the same girl from before, still popping her bubblegum. She points wordlessly to the vending machine, then says, “just about your only option. There’s a diner just up the road, you could try your luck there.”

The vending machine is rather pathetic when it comes to variety. And also quantity. In other words, it’s a barren fucking wasteland, save for a few packs of bubblegum and a row of expired potato chips. 

This day just keeps getting better and better.

The trek to the diner is rough, to put it lightly. Steve feels like his bones are going to shake right out of his skin from how hard he’s shivering. His sneakers don’t do much to keep out the icy cold slush as he makes his way down the road, the snow now up to his shins. Steve wonders, fleetingly, if his lips are starting to turn blue, when the diner finally comes into his line of sight.

It’s warm inside, three employees working and one customer at the bar. 

“We’re about to close up,” the guy at the register tells him, eyeing Steve warily.

Steve just pulls out his father’s credit card again. Says, “I’ll pay double,” and that’s that.

They give him some coffee while he waits. The warmth of the mug feels like heaven on his fingers. They’re blood red from the sharp difference in temperature between the diner and the blizzard outside. Steve watches the snow come down from his seat at the bar, his brows furrowed.

As mad at Billy as he is, he wonders if he’s okay. Worries, for a fleeting moment, that Billy will get nervous before too long and come looking for him. Pictures him getting caught in a snow drift, freezing to death on the side of the road before Steve can even process him being gone.

Highly unlikely. Billy is the most stubborn prick that Steve has ever met. He’d sooner rip out his own teeth than cave and come looking for Steve like some sort of concerned mother.

The thought is rather unfair, and it has Steve wondering. Maybe he _had_ been a dick today. Steve tries to mull over the day’s events in his head, trying to piece together when and where things went wrong. Because honestly, it was initially a really nice day.

Billy had asked him the day prior if he could take him up to Bloomington to do some Christmas shopping, and to get some decorations for his little shoebox of an apartment downtown. He still hasn’t been reissued his license, but Steve is never troubled by Billy asking him for a ride somewhere. Besides, he’d needed to finish some Christmas shopping of his own.

He’d picked up Billy around nine this morning, bright and early with coffee in tow. They’d had a pleasant drive up to the mall in Bloomington, listening to the mixtape Steve had made for Billy to lift his spirits back when he was still in the hospital. Billy had told him about the gift ideas that he’d come up with for Max, something almost like excitement shining in his eyes.

They’d gotten their shopping done earlier than expected, even had fucking lunch. It wasn’t until they were on the ride back that Billy began to get catty. 

More specifically, when the snow had started to fall. It was almost like Billy’s anxiety response was triggered by the sight of those first few fluffy white snowflakes, his hackles raising and that sharped-edged bitterness boiling up inside of him.

Steve still hasn’t learned all of Billy’s triggers. Probably never will. But now that Steve can set his anger aside and think clearly about it, this situation is most likely one of them. Something about the cold, or the danger inherent in driving in a fucking blizzard, or any number of things had triggered Billy. 

Him lashing out doesn’t seem quite so out of the blue now that Steve thinks about it. He kind of wishes he didn’t think about it. Because now that sour feeling is churning in his belly. Something that feels a lot like guilt, or regret.

To be fair, Billy’s moods change so abruptly and so extremely that Steve often has a hard time keeping up. But he did vow to himself long ago that he’d always be patient with Billy, and kind. Even if he’s given all the reason in the world to be angry and cruel, Steve doesn’t need to take that out on Billy.

Not when it’s not Billy’s fault that he’s at an extremely imbalanced point in his life. The guy got possessed, was forced to kill a significant number of people, and almost fucking died himself. 

It’s a thought that still makes Steve hyperventilate sometimes. Thinking about almost losing Billy, about almost having to watch the guy he - his _friend_ bleed out on the grimy linoleum floors of Starcourt Mall. 

And here Steve is, squandering the second chance he’s been blessed with by being the world’s biggest douchebag.

Steve’s feelings about Billy are always a mixed fucking bag, but there is one constant. He never wants to hurt him, intentionally or unintentionally. No matter how much his heart bleeds for Billy, in more ways than one, the one thing he knows for sure is that he only ever wants to put a smile on that ridiculously pretty face.

And as of late, Steve is quite literally the only person who can succeed in that. It gives him a visceral sense of pride, knowing he’s just about the only person in the world who can get a genuine smile spreading across Billy’s face. 

The fact that he’d made Billy frown more than he’d made him smile today is just not going to do.

He’s starting to feel antsy, wanting to get back to the motel and resolve this whole thing once and for all. Steve grabs the bags of takeout from the guy at the register when the food is finally ready, paying and quickly heading back out into the snow. 

It’s not only snowing harder, but it’s starting to get dark. The temperature has somehow dropped even more, and Steve honestly doesn’t think he’s going to make it back. He’s getting tired, even contemplates taking a break and sitting down. But he knows that realistically, if he sits down, he’ll never get back up.

A good fifteen minutes pass before the motel comes back into view. Steve breathes out a sigh of relief, cringing at how raw his lungs feel from breathing in the frigid winter air.

Billy is curled up on his side on the couch, facing the wall. His back is to Steve, and he doesn’t roll over when he finally makes his way back inside.

Steve locks the door. Sets the food down on the coffee table, then kneels beside the couch. Places a tentative hand at the center of Billy’s back, his touch feather-light. 

“I’m back,” Steve informs him, his voice soft and small. “And I’m sorry. I know you were just scared earlier. I shouldn’t have been so mean. Will you please eat something?”

Silence. Steve bites his lip, casting his eyes up at the ceiling. Cursing at himself for being such an unbelievable asshole. 

“Billy. Come on, I know you’re not asleep,” Steve sighs. He’s starting to feel exceptionally shitty, and if he’s being honest, sad. “I got you your favorites. Cheeseburger with bacon, no tomato, extra ketchup and mustard. French fries with mayo. Blueberry cobbler. They were out of vanilla ice cream but I got you a milkshake.”

“There's literally a fucking blizzard outside, Harrington.”

And okay, that stings. Billy only ever calls him Harrington when he’s incredibly upset. 

Steve doesn’t stop trying anyway. Rubs Billy’s back soothingly, just a little. Smiles just a bit when he relaxes, even if it’s minutely. “It’s never too cold for a milkshake. Besides, the food’s nice and warm. Please, eat? For me?”

Another long moment passes before Billy finally shifts. Rolls over, shrugging Steve’s hand off. Stares directly into Steve’s eyes. The hurt that Steve sees there is unmistakable. It makes his heart squeeze sadly.

“Fine. But only because you begged.”

Billy doesn’t move from the couch while they eat. Steve sits on the floor in front of the coffee table, working on his own food. The silence is almost fucking deafening, beginning to feel rather suffocating, when Billy finally speaks.

“I wasn’t scared,” he says, suddenly. 

Steve is startled out of his thoughts, blinking up at him. “What?”

“Earlier. I wasn’t scared.”

“Oh,” Steve answers. Swallows around the lump in his throat. “I just thought that, you know. Because you were doing that thing, like when you get nervous, where you -”

Billy gives him an even look. Cuts him off to say, rather simply, “I wasn’t scared. I was remembering.”

The breath rushes from Steve’s lungs all at once. He’d tried to read up on PTSD, both for Billy’s sake, and his own. There’d been a lot of talk about traumatic memories, about how certain triggers can make the survivor relive things so thoroughly that it’s like it’s happening all over again.

And honestly, knowing Billy was reliving a traumatic memory rather than him just being scared is so much fucking worse.

“Remembering what?” Steve pushes, gentle as can be. His half-eaten dinner sits on the table before him, forgotten.

“The cold,” is the only answer that he gets.

Steve knows Billy talks about things in therapy, things he’ll never voice outside of the sanctuary of his therapist’s office. He knows that most of what Billy experienced while he was possessed will never be revealed to him. 

There are just some things that Billy keeps for himself, and there’s not much that Steve can do about that other than be there for him in whatever other ways Billy needs.

“I’m sorry,” is all Steve can think to say. He wants to keep repeating it until Billy forgives him. Maybe then the awful feelings roiling around in his gut will fucking give it a rest.

Billy just shrugs. Polishes off his food, then wordlessly moves to the bathroom. The door shuts behind him with a soft click, and a moment later Steve hears the shower turn on. He stays in there for a good long while. Either processing how he’s feeling, or avoiding Steve. At this point, Steve isn’t really sure.

Steve should probably do the same, once Billy is finished. He’s still in his wet shoes and socks, his clothes now icy and damp from melted snow. The shivering starts up again, his teeth chattering. Maybe he should get up and do something about that.

Instead, he stays frozen in place, rolling Billy’s words around in his head. If he freezes to death on this shitty motel floor, then so be it. He kind of deserves it after behaving like a heartless piece of shit while his - his _something_ relived his greatest source of trauma in the seat right fucking next to him.

And Steve hadn’t even picked up on it. He’d thought that he was doing a pretty good job of helping Billy, of recognizing the signs of his PTSD when they present themselves. Clearly, however, he was pretty fucking wrong about that.

When Billy exits the bathroom, he’s in the spare change of clothes Steve keeps in his trunk. It’s just an old t-shirt and gym shorts, his old gym clothes. Steve hadn’t even realized that Billy had brought them in with him.

“Shower’s free,” Billy mutters. Makes his way back over to the couch. 

Steve gnaws on his lip, barely hearing him. Still lost in thought. Shivers like it’s going out of fucking style, all but vibrating on the ground. 

“Steve,” Billy repeats, his voice tinged with annoyance. “Steve, are you even fucking listening to - hey, woah. Your fucking lips are blue, what’re you - Jesus Christ. Leave it to you to let yourself go fucking hypothermic _indoors_.”

Two hands are shoved under his armpits, and a moment later he’s hauled up off the ground.

“What’re you - I’m _fine_ ,” Steve objects, just as another shiver rolls through him. 

Billy ignores him. Manhandles him over to the bathroom, then quite literally just begins to strip him down. Completely unphased.

Good to know that Steve’s naked body elicits absolutely no reaction from Billy. That’s information that he really fucking needs right now. 

“In,” Billy orders, pointing to the shower. He’d turned the water on already, letting it heat up until the bathroom filled with steam.

Steve does as he’s asked. Hisses at the first touch of the hot water to his skin, leaping back from the spray and crashing into the far wall of the shower, hitting his head.

“You okay in there?” Billy calls from the other side of the door, having cleared the premises to give Steve some privacy.

“Yup, yeah - _fuck_ \- I’m all good,” Steve yells back, rubbing the lump already beginning to form on his head. 

He starts to feel normal again once he’s warmed up. Washes up, then gets out and dries off. Quickly realizes that he has nothing but wet clothes to change back into. Groans pitifully, thanking the stars that his boxers are dry, at least. He hangs up his clothes before ducking out of the bathroom.

“You took my clothes,” Steve tells Billy when he re-enters the room, both hands on his hips. 

Billy, who has finally taken his rightful place on the bed, looks up in surprise. That look quickly morphs into a smirk, cocking his head. “Hm. Serves you right.”

Steve rolls his eyes. Marches over to the bed and flops down, yanking the covers and fleece blanket over himself. Billy looks mildly surprised, his mouth dropping open just a little bit. 

“What happened to you taking the couch?”

“Fuck the couch,” Steve mumbles, his voice muffled from the blankets covering his face. 

A few moments of silence pass. Then, Billy shifts, and Steve hears a click. The room is immediately shrouded in darkness, save for the dim sliver of moonlight filtering through the curtains. 

“You better not hog all of the fucking covers, Harrington,” Billy grouches, squirming until he gets comfortable. “Else I’m gonna have to kick your ass right out of bed.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Steve fires back. He makes a face at Billy, even though it’s too dark for him to see it.

Billy just snorts, and then silence falls between them. It’s comfortable at first, but the longer Steve rests there, tossing the days events around in his head until he feels like he has shaken baby syndrome, the more uncomfortable it becomes. 

“I really am sorry, you know,” Steve finally says, his voice barely audible even in the too-quiet room.

Billy doesn’t answer for a long time. And then, “I know.”

“Do you forgive me?”

“Maybe,” Billy says, sighing. “Probably. Yeah.”

A victory if Steve has ever heard one. The unease coiling in his stomach loosens its hold, little by little. Until Steve is left with nothing but the feeling of the cold that’s made a home beneath his skin, despite warming himself up in the shower. He shivers again, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. 

“Jesus, how’re you still fucking cold?” Billy asks, peering over at him. Steve can just barely see his blue eyes shining in the darkness.

He shrugs, curling deeper into the blankets. Still shivering. Wishes he could stop, but without something to at least cover his bare torso, it’s a lost cause.

Billy heaves a sigh. Twitches, then hesitates. His eyes are still trained on Steve in the darkness. And then he’s grabbing Steve’s arm, pulling him close. Wraps his arms around Steve’s shivering frame, even goes so far as to tangle their legs together. 

Steve’s face is smushed against Billy’s chest. His heart feels like it’s in his throat. Billy is fucking warm as hell, like a goddamn radiator, and it’s overwhelming. Steve squirms a little, then stops. Squirms again, stops again. Tries to get comfortable, but everything inside of him feels like it’s strung tight. Ready to snap at any given moment.

“Stop fuckin’ moving,” Billy mumbles, tucking his chin on top of Steve’s head. “Either that or get out and freeze. Your choice.”

Steve’s words from earlier ring in his ears. He feels the guilt bubble up in his throat. Sighs. Shifts one last time to genuinely get comfortable, relaxing under Billy’s careful touch. Lets himself be grateful for the warmth. 

“Billy?” Steve asks after another long stretch of silence. Checking to see if he’s awake. “Billy, are you -”

“Oh my God, _what_.”

Steve tries to smother his laugh, but it doesn’t work. Not really. “I was just seeing if you were awake.”

“Yes, your majesty, I’m awake,” Billy huffs. Tightens his arms around Steve, just a little bit. “How can I serve you at this fine hour? Do be quick, so I can fucking go to sleep.”

“I just…” Steve trails off. Bites his lip.

What _does_ he want to talk about? Does he want to talk about anything? Or does he just want the soothing comfort of Billy’s voice lulling him to sleep? 

He’s really starting to wonder. But - well. There _is_ something. Something he’s been wanting to say, because he just has to get it out there before the night is over.

“You can talk to me about anything, you know that, right?”

Billy twitches a little. Doesn’t say anything for a long moment, until, “sure. You’ve told me as much, a few thousand times.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s just…” Steve pauses again. Tucks his face back into Billy’s chest to muffle his words. “In the car today. You didn’t say anything, and I - um. I reacted badly, because I thought you were just. I dunno. Being cranky I guess? So it’s just. If you ever need to tell me that something is going on with - with all of _that stuff_ , then, um. You can. Anytime.”

Word vomit. Steve’s face burns, and his mouth closes so hard that his teeth knock together. Billy doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move. Lays there for so long that Steve is kind of worried that he’s dead, heart having given out over Steve’s stilted words. 

Finally, Billy speaks. “I know. But it’s harder than it looks. I’m working on it.”

“I know you are, don’t even - of course I know you are. You’re working so hard, and I’m, um. Well, I’m like, really proud of -”

“Steve. Please, just. Can we not? It’s - I’m not mad,” Billy says, interrupting his pathetic attempt at praise. “You don’t have to keep apologizing. I said it’s okay.”

It’s Steve’s turn to be quiet for a long moment. He doesn’t quite know what to say to that. He is, however, more than used to Billy rejecting his attempts at affection, or praise. But Steve keeps doing it, because he’s relatively certain that Billy needs it. Wants it, even. He just doesn’t know what to do with it when he gets it.

This theory arose a while back, when Steve had started going to Billy’s physical therapy sessions. Had begun offering kind words of encouragement, and soft praises whenever Billy did anything successfully. Billy had all but bitten his head off for it, but.

The moment Steve had stopped, well. Billy dropped every hint in the book that he wanted it back. So Steve had obliged readily. Learned not to dwell on the sting of rejection that accompanies Billy’s visceral reactions to his words. It’s just another way Billy copes.

He knows that.

Steve curls his fingers into the material of Billy’s shirt. Tries, and fails miserably, to resist the urge to nuzzle his face into Billy’s chest. It’s just - it’s _right there_. An irresistible temptation that Steve has been wanting for so goddamn long that he doesn’t even remember when it started. 

“I wish you’d let me care about you,” Steve sighs, before he can stop himself. 

When the words are out there, hanging in the silence between them, Steve is horrified. Wants to take them and stuff them right back into his mouth where they belong.

Billy stops breathing. Steve knows, because his face is still squished up against Billy’s chest. His voice is almost - shaky, maybe? When he says, “I’m trying.”

Steve pulls back. Looks up at Billy through the darkness. Gives him a soft smile that he hopes he can see. “And you’re doing so well. It’s - fuck it. I’m fucking proud of you, alright?”

“Jesus, Steve,” Billy chokes out. Sucks in a sharp breath. “Would you - can you just - will you -”

He has no idea if Billy is asking him to shut the fuck up, or if he’s desperately needing him to continue. Since Steve can’t really make himself stick a fucking cork in it anyway, he keeps going.

“You’ve just - you’ve accomplished so much this year with your physical therapy and the apartment and getting your new job,” he rambles on, fingers tightening on the material of Billy’s shirt. “You’re doing so well and that’s all because of you. You’ve made all of this for yourself and it’s amazing because what you went through was horrible. So fucked up. I almost - um. _We_ almost lost you, and look at you now.”

Silence so thick that Steve could cut it with a knife settles between them. He’s afraid to look up, doesn’t want to see Billy’s expression. Doesn’t want to know if he’s just royally fucked things up again.

When he finally chances a glance up at him, Steve is taken aback. Because Billy is - he’s fucking crying? No, he’s not - he’s choking it back with all the strength he can muster. Because as he’s so eloquently put it to Steve in the past, Billy Doesn’t Cry. 

“Oh, shit. Fuck - I didn’t mean to upset you, fuckfuck _f_ _uck_ ,” Steve mutters, words spilling from his lips at a breakneck speed. Tries to pull away, but Billy’s arms tighten around him, keeping him in place.

“Steve, just - for two seconds. Please. Shut the fuck up,” Billy requests, his voice thick and rough with something like barely subdued emotion.

Steve stops squirming. Slumps against the warm body coiled around him. Tentatively wraps one arm around Billy. They’re spooning chest-to-chest and Steve absolutely refuses to comment on it. Refuses to ruin this moment. 

One of Billy’s hands finds the nape of his neck. A shiver runs down Steve’s spine when Billy starts to play with the hair that he finds there. He’s pretty damn sure that if he were to look, he’d find that every square inch of his body is covered in goosebumps.

Billy breaks the silence first. Buries his face into the fluffy hair at the top of Steve’s head, and says, quiet as ever, “you’re too good for me.”

Steve wonders if he’d gotten sick on his trek back to the motel. If he’s asleep and this is a very strange and very cruel fever dream. But when Billy’s lips press to the top of Steve’s head, soft and gentle and so quick that he wonders if it really happened at all, he knows it’s real. This is real.

“You’re good too, Billy,” Steve promises, squeezing him tight. “So good.”

And Billy, well. He lets out this broken little noise, a cross between a sob and a sigh of relief. So it doesn’t exactly come as a surprise when he pulls back. Cups Steve’s cheek in one hand, and plants one on him.

It’s just a hurried press of lips, their foreheads knocking together and it’s incredibly poorly aimed and Steve is so fucking in love he’s pretty sure his heart is just going to stop altogether. Billy pulls back, unable to meet his eyes. 

That is, until Steve reaches up, threads his fingers through Billy’s curls. Pulls him back in for another kiss, this one soft and sweet and bursting with everything that Steve has felt but was never able to say. With everything he needs Billy to _know_. Needs him to understand just how fucking much he means to him. 

“You _are_ good,” Steve tells him, nodding in his certainty. “You’re perfect. The only one for me.”

Billy doesn’t answer. Just scoots down, lets Steve wrap himself around him so he can tuck his face into his neck. An exchange of power that shouldn’t mean as much as it does.

They fall asleep like that, wrapped up in each other, their soft, even breathing the only sound in the room.

* * *

When Steve wakes up in the morning, the bed is empty. He stretches, looking around. Finds Billy sitting on the couch, lacing up his shoes. Billy meets his eyes, and Steve gives him a dopey smile. 

The look he gets in return makes his stomach sink.

“We should get going,” Billy tells him, clearing his throat. “I went and got us something to eat for the drive back.”

Steve opens his mouth to ask him what’s wrong, but Billy is already making a beeline for the bathroom. Ducks inside and shuts the door before Steve has time to speak.

The ride back to Hawkins is heavy and silent. Steve feels like he’s going to crawl out of his skin, but he just focuses on the road. He knows what the look on Billy’s face means.

He’s not interested in talking, and attempting to get him to do so will only end badly.

Steve grips the steering wheel tight. Keeps his eyes focused on the road, and tries to keep all of his thoughts locked up in his head where they belong. 

But, to quote Billy, it’s a lot fucking harder than it looks.

* * *

Two weeks pass with no sign of Billy.

Steve is reshelving the returns at Family Video. It’s Christmas Eve, and he’s honestly not even sure why the store is open. Much less why both he _and_ Robin are needed on the slowest night of the year. He’s probably tossing the movies back onto the shelves with more force than necessary, but, well. 

Things really aren’t going that great for him right now. So fuck the stupid fucking movies.

After Steve had dropped Billy off at his apartment those two fateful weeks ago, he’d thought that he’d at least have gotten a call from Billy by now. 

No such luck.

And look, Steve gets it, alright? It was an emotionally charged moment, they were both tired, shit happened. Billy either didn’t genuinely want to be a part of it after all, or he has no idea how to process what happened and is running away. 

Steve thinks it’s probably the latter, knowing Billy. But. He can’t help but worry that maybe it’s much simpler than that. Maybe Billy just really doesn’t want him after all.

“Okay, Dingus. I’m out of here,” Robin says, startling him out of his thoughts. “You should go soon, too.”

“We don’t close for another two hours,” Steve points out.

Robin rolls her eyes, tossing her keys up in the air and catching them with ease. “Boss man isn’t here. _No one_ is here. It’s Christmas Eve, Steve. Go home.”

“Hey, that rhymed. Dr. Suess in the house, everybody!” Steve jokes, lamely. Stalling. 

He doesn’t want to go home, doesn’t want to be alone. His original plan was to visit his parents, but they’d jetted off to some sunny beach somewhere on the other side of the world at the last minute. Joyce had told him that he’s more than welcome to spend Christmas Eve with her and the boys, but Steve doesn’t want to intrude on their time together as a family.

“You’re hilarious,” Robin tells him, monotonous. “Seriously, Steve. Quit being such a lonely sad sack and get out of here. Enjoy the holidays. You’re more than welcome to spend tonight and tomorrow with me and Heather, if you want to.”

“Okay, okay,” Steve laments, sighing. “I’ll - okay, I’ll finish reshelving these and then I’ll leave. I’ll call you if I’m planning to come over.”

Robin nods. Pats his shoulder, giving him a gentle smile. “Bring beer if you do.”

She’s gone a moment later, leaving Steve alone in the store with his thoughts. 

He’s not mad at Billy, necessarily. He’s just - he’s _hurt_. Understandably so. Sure, they hadn’t necessarily established that their feelings were mutual, but like. Billy _kissed_ him. Made it pretty fucking clear that he wanted him. Or so Steve thought, at least.

Billy running away like this shouldn’t surprise him. It really fucking shouldn’t, not this far into their - whatever you’d call it. Friendship. Relationship. What the fuck ever. But lo and behold, here Steve is, shocked beyond belief that Billy had just seemingly dropped off the face of the fucking earth after opening himself up to him.

He throws another video onto the shelf with a displeased grunt. Doesn’t look up when the bell above the door dings. Just tosses down another movie and says, “we’re closed.”

“Sign on the door says otherwise.”

Steve’s head snaps up so fast that his neck cracks. Billy stands just inside of the doors, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. He looks incredibly awkward - it kind of makes Steve feel bad for him.

Kind of.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asks, trying to keep his voice even. “Figured you’d have some more disappearing to do.”

Billy flinches, just a little bit. Slowly makes his way over to the shelf that Steve is restocking, pausing a healthy distance away from him.

“I…look. I, uh. Came to apologize,” Billy tells him, his voice rough. He clears his throat awkwardly. “For bailing like that.”

“Good to know,” Steve says. He’s proud of himself for keeping his voice so cool and even. Because inside, he’s a scrambled fucking mess. 

“I got scared.”

“Figured as much.”

Billy sighs, finally just giving up and worming his way into Steve’s space. “Could you at least fucking look at me?”

“What do you want me to say, Billy? We’ve been playing this game so fucking long, I’ve forgotten whose turn it is,” Steve tells him, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Fuck, I’ve forgotten the whole fucking point of the game in the first place. I’m sick of playing.”

“I’m done playing,” Billy says, earnestly. Searches his eyes, a little frantically. “No more games.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means,” Billy starts, reaching out and tucking Steve’s hair behind his ear, “that I’m not doing it anymore. Pretending I don’t want - that I don’t care about you. I want this, with you. Whatever you’ll give me, I want it.”

“And how do I know that if I tell you that I’d give you anything, you won’t just run away again?” Steve asks. Grabs Billy’s hand as it moves away, squeezing it tight.

“Do I look like I’m going anywhere?”

Steve drops his hand like he’s been burned. “You didn’t look like you were going anywhere the last time, and look what happened.”

“I know, I’m…” Billy trails off. His hands twitch by his sides, like they want to reach out but fear what will happen if they do. “I’m sorry. I just - it was a lot. It all happened so fast and I just. I didn’t know what to do. Or what to think. Especially didn’t know what the fuck to say.”

“You could’ve just talked to me,” Steve mutters, but he’s already softening around the edges. Reaches out and grabs one of Billy’s hands again, this time lacing their fingers together.

Billy takes a deep breath. Squeezes Steve’s hand, same way Steve had done before. “I’m shit at talking.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.”

Billy’s smile is soft and sweet and Steve really, really wants to kiss him. He doesn’t know if he should, or if he even can, but. Billy said that he wants this. Wants him. Steve supposes that this is the time for him to prove it.

His lips are just as soft, just as warm and pliant as they were the first time they kissed. Steve sighs into Billy’s mouth, wraps his arms around Billy’s neck. Reels him in close and kisses the breath right out of his lungs. 

Billy makes a soft noise of appreciation, one hand curling into the fabric of Steve’s shirt, the other tangling in his hair. He kisses Steve a little desperately. Like it’s his last chance, like he’ll never get to experience this again and wants to savor it.

Steve makes a mental note to show Billy just how much more he’s going to be able to do this. Because this time, Steve has no intention of letting him get away. This time, they’re sealing this deal once and for all.

“Spend the night with me,” Billy breathes when they break apart. His cheeks heat up instantly, suddenly looking shy and bashful. A new look for him. “I mean - that’s not - um. Christmas Eve is what I meant. If you - I mean, if you don’t have other plans.”

“So you’re saying I’m _not_ going to get dick if I do? But it's _Christmas_!” Steve jokes. Tilts his head back and laughs, loud and boisterous, at the look he receives in response. 

Billy joins in after a moment, roping Steve in for another kiss. Says, when they break apart, “I think that can be arranged. Anything for the King.”

Steve rolls his eyes, smacking Billy’s shoulder. Pushes him towards the door with another laugh, one that’s loud and bright and full of unbridled hope. “Shut up and take me home, Hargrove.”

Billy kisses him, soft and sweet, before speaking directly into his ear. Making sure Steve doesn’t miss his next words, clear and purposeful and just for him.

“You got it, princess.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, your thoughts are greatly appreciated!! you can find me on tumblr at [hartigays](https://hartigays.tumblr.com/)


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